


The Lady in the Silk Robe (Prologue)

by little_box_of_flower_pots



Series: Unforgettable (that's what you are) [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: BAMF Reader, Blood, F/M, Fluff, Mind the warnings, Non-descript mentions of rape, Reader has a last/surname, Reader-Insert, they're relevant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 04:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18933697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_box_of_flower_pots/pseuds/little_box_of_flower_pots
Summary: Arthur has a horrible, no good, very bad day, and by the end of it, he just really wants to go to bed. Unfortunately for him, Dutch and co drag him to the local brothel where he meets a working girl and they share a drink. It’s all good until the door comes breaking down.





	The Lady in the Silk Robe (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy! I never posted fanfic before, so I'm really curious how this is going to turn out for me.

**September - 1894**

_This has to be the most garish whorehouse this side of the Lannahechee._

Rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes, Arthur Morgan found himself in a difficult situation.

Well, not difficult per se. More like, “I’d like to go back to camp and go to bed. Preferably not with another person.”

Arthur had nothing against brothels or prostitution in general. It was just another way people made a living during these hard times. Hell, he’s met his fair share of working girls and been to a handful of such establishments over the years. There was some appeal at first, but that excitement quickly burned out. Call him an old romantic, but Arthur would rather, if he would ever know, become acquainted with a lady he did not have to pay for (and pray not receive a morning after involving either an empty wallet and/or a burning, itching sensation in very sad parts). Then again, he’s certain most, if not all men are like that in some capacity.

And now, sighing for the dozenth time in ten minutes, Arthur sat back in his chair and awaited for his paid company. With his journal in hand, he thinks back to the events that led him to this sorry place.

That cup of coffee at dawn was the only good thing that happened to him today.

It started off with a bounty gone wrong.

His name was Lynwood Barker. Wanted dead or alive, his long list of crimes included several accounts of rape, murder, robbery, and theft. Most of the crimes were against women, a majority being prostitutes.

He's described as a psychopath, an absolute abomination of a man, taking pleasure in harm and leaving a bloodbath in his wake.

Different towns and counties were diligent on catching him, chasing clues and leads for weeks on end. As time passed, posters were made and price for his head quickly became one of the most sought after bounties the area has ever seen.

He’s still unsure as to how Barker got the upper hand on him. Maybe the fact that this man turned out to be well over 6 and a half feet tall and stacked like a brick shithouse. Their confrontation happened at an abandoned house miles away from the nearest town. It started off as a firefight between pistols and rifles before the two decided to drop their weapons and pick up their fists.

This is where Arthur realizes that he probably shouldn’t have dropped his guns. And soon he laid in the dirt, rattled and scuffled in black and blue. He watches in the haze in the dirt, Barker riding off into the horizon, possibly gone from his grasps forever.

At least he got a shot of Barker and lodge a bullet in his ass. It’s what he deserved for grazing him in the arm. _Goddamn, that hurt._

* * *

Picking himself up, Arthur takes his sorry ass back to camp. His tends his wounds and he can only move on with the rest of his day.

Then came the bear.

Hunting. Now that should give some reward. By now it was mid-afternoon. With the weather at its warmest, the sun high in the clear skies, finding game should be near literal walk in the park. In less than an hour, Arthur catches himself three rabbits and a deer, all in near perfect condition. And just as he finishes packing up, thinking things were turning around for him, he hears a twig snap. On instinct, he grabs for the nearest rifle and cocks it back, ready to fire.

Behind him was not a person, but what appeared to be a 400+ pound grizzly bear. And it did not appear to be happy to see him.

Several miles later, Arthur thinks he’s lost the bear in their sudden chase. Or so he hopes as he lays in at the bottom of a cliff after his horse had unceremoniously thrown him off. It was about a 200-foot drop and he hit every branch, shrub, and rock on the way.

“Son of a bitch!”

Now it was evening. The sun was setting by the time Arthur made it back to camp. Quickly drawing the attention to nearly everyone at camp with his ragged appearance, he growled out a “I don’t wanna talk about it” to anyone who attempted to ask before dumping his game on the ground from his still traumatized horse that took him another hour to find and calm before walking to his tent and collapsing on top of his cot.

But he didn’t sleep. If anything, he only needed a breather. And a drink to be honest. Unfortunately, he soon discovers that his supply was dry. Checking his watch, Arthur debated whether he should go into town for a drink or to turn in early. He gave in to the former. He changes his clothes, feeds his horse, and heads on over.

The local saloon was packed with a boisterous crowd of drunkards. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves and Arthur can hope he can be a part of it.

This doesn’t happen.

Instead of a shot of whiskey, he gets a fistful of someone’s knuckles. He doesn’t even know how this whole fight happened. All he remembers is that he ended up in the middle of it. The only reason why he didn’t kill the guy who provoked him in the first place was that someone had grabbed him by the collar and pulled away.

“That’s enough, Arthur!”

“Dutch, what the hell?!”

One rather amused Dutch van der Linde drags Arthur out of the saloon, telling him they needed to leave before any lawmen show up. Dutch ends up taking him to the other side of town where other members of the gang appeared to be waiting.

Upon their sudden arrival, John was the first to react. By laughing out loud. Like the dumbass that he is.

“Jesus Christ, Arthur what the hell happened to you?”

Arthur only answers by spitting blood on the ground. However, Dutch gives him his dialogue for the rest.

“I found our poor boy in a bit of a tussle down the road at the saloon. Just about killed some drunken bastard if I hadn’t got him out.” This pulled some laughs out from the boys and Arthur can only roll his eyes at them.

It was starting to get late and Arthur had planned on heading back to camp. Dutch and company had other ideas.

“Dutch, you know how I feel about brothels.” Dutch dismisses his complaints with a wave of his hand, refusing to take no for an answer. Arthur was damn near dragged to the establishment in question, all while spitting out as many excuses as possible. All from that he was tired and needed his cot to lack of money to pay. This deters no one. If anything, it only encouraged them. Dutch even offered to pay for him.

And now here he was.. Alone, tired, and still reeling in a bit of pain nearly everything that has happened today. And he still didn’t get his damn drink.

With another sigh, he sits back and takes in the room he had “paid” for.

The room he was currently sitting in what looked to be a poor attempt of suggestion and comfort. He’ll give it props though. They definitely tried to make it pretty judging by the amount of doilies, lace, floral wallpaper, actual flowers, rugs, and furniture. Upon closer inspection however, the flaws were quickly found and that’s overlooking the gaudy eyesore this entire room already was. For God’s sake, who thought this threadbare rug that looked like it was made of the bristles of a broom went with the fading, half-eaten blue lace curtains and the yellowing, peeling wallpaper that probably hasn’t been changed since the civil war?

The room was relatively spacious considering the amount of furniture it had and what its actual purpose was. It was actually a lot bigger than most hotel rooms he’s ever stayed in.

Using whatever time he had left alone, Arthur takes the time to become better acquainted with the room by drawing out some sketches in his journal.

There was a small bed at the far end corner. In fact, it was too small. Even staring at the bed let alone drawing it was a discouraging sight. It wasn’t even big enough for two people to lay on. Or maybe that’s the whole point? Do prostitutes cuddle? Nevermind. The bed contained a mattress that looked in desperate need of restuffing, sheets that raised more questions than answers, one overstuffed pillow splitting at the edges. It all sat on top of a rusted metal bed frame that made the most god awful noise when just the littlest amount of weight was placed on it. Cringing, under his sketch, Arthur writes, “What poor child lost their bed to the lustful?”

In the middle, was a table with a pair of chairs where Arthur was currently occupying. They weren’t much of sight, bare in style, even with the attempt of it. At least it was steadier than the bed, thank god.

At the other end near the door, a cabinet disguising itself as a vanity with a hung up mirror and a bowl of water. He thought about rummaging through it but was quickly overwhelmed by sheer disinterest. He was also worried about finding something he didn’t want to see in there. Also touching. To touch less of this room, the better. He didn’t even want to be anywhere near that bowl of water, assuming it still was mostly water.

Arthur pulls out his watch and sighs.

_How much time longer will this take_?

* * *

 When the door opens and abruptly shut, it startles a near dozing off Arthur.

"Sorry, I'm late," she says out of breath. "I was caught up with something and lost track of time."

The lady in question came through in a flurry of pink. Her silk rose robe wraps tight around her body with loose, long sleeves and cut short at the thighs. It was suggestive, to say the least, and Arthur could not help himself to ask what was underneath it.

She wore heels that accented every hurried step she took in heavy clicks on the wood. Simply watching her, Arthur sees her go the cabinet, digging around for something.

Coming out, she has in her hand what looked like a bottle of alcohol and two cloudy glasses.

"Would you like a drink?" the lady turns to him. "We have a bottle of..." she squints, trying to read the old, dusty label, "oh, it's whiskey."

A drink. Finally. Maybe some whiskey could smooth out this soon-to-be awkward situation.

"Sure," he simply says.

"That's great to hear."

As she pops open the bottle and pours out their drinks, Arthur takes in the sight of his paid company.

She looked young, youthful even, but there was something about her. A sort of maturity that hung around her, suspecting him to think she was older than she looked. Her legs looked long thanks to the short length of robe and heels, not to mention that it accentuated her ass when she had had her back turned when she searched the cabinets. Stop staring!

There was makeup on her face that accented her eyes in red that matched the same shade that covered her cheeks and lips. Her hair was pinned in a way that Arthur could not even begin to try to understand how it was made. All he knew was that it looked messy with strands that fell around her face. It was strangely endearing.

And it was so hard not to notice as she took her seat, the opening of her robe. The entire front center of her chest was exposed, the fabric teasing only the swell of her breasts and the space between them. He knows the whole the point is to stare, but it still feels wrong. The lady hands him his drink and they say cheers.

"You can call me Opal," she teases a smile, leaning back on her chair and crossing her legs. "What would you liked to be called?"

He catches on. She's using a fake name and is giving him permission to use one for himself. _Ain’t that cute?_

"You can call me Arthur," he returns the smile.

"Hello, Arthur. How are you?"

"I'm okay. You?"

"I'm as well as well can be."

Arthur takes another sip of his whiskey. It’s not great, but it does the job. His company doesn’t seem to like it either, only taking small sips and staining the rim with the paint from her lips. Clearing his throat, he needs to throw what he needs to say on the table.

“Now Opal, I hope you don’t mind. I came here against my own will. You see a few friends of mine reckoned I should come with them. I personally am not too fond of brothels or any similar establishments. I have no interest in taking part in these . . . ‘activities’, you understand?”

As he spoke, Opal kept a straight face and simply smiles and nods.

“I completely understand,” her hands go to her robe and covers up her chest. “Most clients would rather talk most times than take part in any activity. as you put it. Either way, I’ll try my best to entertain you. Or if you like, I can let you go and this can be the end of it.”

Arthur would be lying if he didn’t think Opal was charming. The way she spoke, the way she held herself, the very way she looked, it was nothing he ever expected from a prostitute. She almost made this work look classy in a strange, backward kinda way. Most working girls he’s seen and met are always so vulgar and nasty though he doesn’t blame. Their clients are just the same.

“Feel free to make any choice you’d like, Arthur.”

_Oh, what do we do now?_

“Well,” he shrugs, “my friends did pay for this room. It'd be an awful waste of money if I just got up and left. I wouldn’t mind a good drink and talk with you.” Raising his drink and winking at her, Opal giggles and helps refill his glass.

“Anything you’d like, Arthur.” That got him to chuckle.

* * *

“If you don't mind me asking,” Arthur first starts, “you're not from around these parts, are you?" Opal huffs a laugh.

"It's obvious, huh? I don’t sound like the people from these parts. No, you're not wrong. I'm from the far east. I was originally born and raised in New York City."

"New York City?”, his voice raises as did his brows. “No kiddin’. What’s it like?”

“Oh, New York? It's not much. You've been to big cities before, haven't you? It's dirty, full of disease, shit everywhere - human and horse alike. It's grey and full of smoke and ash. I spent the first 20 some years of my life living in the major cities in New England before I decided to start wandering off for more rural prospects. I still visit major cities when I have the chance. Though I hate the crowded streets, I find them a place of safety and familiarity. I still like the countryside too. I just gotta make sure I don't lose myself too much to the elements. Unlike someone like yourself, I've never been a great outdoors person."

“Now Arthur, I wanted to ask you something too." By now Opal was sitting cozy in her seat, her torso leaning forward with her elbows on the table. Arthur only realizes now that he was almost mirroring her body language. “I can’t help but be drawn by your attire and accent. Tell me, are you a cowboy? Or better yet, an outlaw?” Arthur nearly spits out his drink laughing at her curiosity.

“I guess you could say I’m something of a cowboy, but I wouldn’t say I was an outlaw.”

Judging by her shifting eyes as she takes a drink, Opal didn’t look convinced.

“I don’t know . . . sounds like something an outlaw would say.”

He nearly spills his drink again.

As they talk and drink and laugh together, Arthur realizes they have a lot in common. They were both poor orphans who scraped by stealing and pickpocketing. They both enjoyed the same types of alcohol and loved horses and the great outdoors. He allows himself to let loose and tells her bits and parts of his past, evening talking about the oh so great day he had today.

“Oh!” Opal perks up when he mentioned the early morning bounty, “you’re a bounty hunter! Who were you trying to catch?”

“Some bastard rapist named Lynwood Barker.”

“Lynwood Barker?!”

Oh lord, he thinks. The sound of his name suddenly brought the warm atmosphere right down. Opal became a doe-eyed deer caught in the crosshairs of a hunter. She straightens up, her chair screeching against the wood with her.

“You were hunting Lynwood Barker? And you didn’t catch him?” The desperation in her voice had Arthur reeling in a small feeling of regret.

“Fraid not. We got into a bit of scuffle, firing bullets at one another. He ended up slippin’ away.”

“Christ,” Opal mutters to herself. “I was wondering why you were covered in blood and bruises, I wasn’t planning on asking. He did that to you?”

“A little bit. These were mostly from that saloon fight I somehow got into.”

“An outlaw, I’m telling you,” she laughs but was lacking a smile. “But seriously, that Lynwood Barker is becoming more than a problem. I haven’t been here for long but nearly every woman I met, working girl or not, is afraid of him. I was hoping by now someone caught him or at least shot him dead.”

“Yeah, no kiddin‘. I see now why his bounty was so damn high. I certainly underestimated him and his abilities.”

“There’s a lady, Sara, who works here. Sweet girl, couldn’t hurt a fly. She got caught by that bastard Barker a few days ago. I actually ran into the whole thing, god! She was able to run from him before he got to her and I heard him yell that he would come and find her and finish the job.”

“God almighty. She actually got away?”

“She did, but the poor girl is afraid for her life now. She refuses to be left alone and thinks Barker is going to find her at any moment. All of us girls are trying to help the best we can. From what I’ve heard he’s never let a single person go and I can’t blame her for thinking that way. I hope for her sake and the rest of ours they put in end to him.”

It’s always so hard to find the right words to say at tender moments like these. All Arthur could think to do is give a small smile.

“Let’s pray for it.”

* * *

 Their conversation soon shifts and the warm atmosphere from before starts to tumbles back in.

Opal started talking more about herself. Or more in particular, the number of occupations she’s held over the years.

“It’s not because I’m a terrible employee, mind you. I get restless and like to move around a lot. I’ve never stayed in one place longer than a few months.”

Arthur counts over a dozen jobs she lists off. These include a shoemaker, a seamstress, a gardener, a chimney sweeper, a bartender, a stable-keeper, a ballet dancer, and a magician’s assistant.

“No,” he shakes his head, “you’re jokin’. Ballet dancer, sure. But a magician’s assistant?”

“Believe me, it’s as ridiculous as it sounds,” she’s also shaking her head. “This man, his name was Pascal LeBlanc, but he called himself 'The Virtuoso from Versailles' on stage. To be honest, I don't even think he was even from Versailles. Anyway, he was and still is one of the strangest, most eccentric person I ever met in my life. I couldn’t even begin to describe him! He was more of experience let alone someone I used to call my boss. As his assistant, I was basically a distraction for the audience as he was setting up tricks. I used to wear the most scandalous stage outfits that barely covered anything. I think I wore less than what I’m wearing right now. Don’t laugh, I’m not joking! They were also decorated in crystals and other shiny stuff that would catch any light and attention. I wasn’t really the one doing any magic. If anything, I was actually part of the act itself.”

“So you don’t know any tricks yourself?” Arthur couldn’t help himself.

“Eh,” Opal shrugs, “I think I still remember a few basic sleight of hand tricks. This was years ago when I was twenty and lost in Philadelphia.”

“Think you could show me somethin‘?” Arthur really couldn’t help himself.

Opal’s lips split into a wide smile.

“Mmm . . . alright. I could never say no to such a cute cowboy like you.”

Heat rises into his cheeks and Arthur thinks the alcohol is hitting. He wonders if it's hitting her too. But she didn’t drink as much as he did, did she?

“I’m gonna need something,” her hands dance and search for whatever it could get. “Say, cowboy, you smoke?”

“Sure.”

“Mind if I borrow a cigarette? Promise I’ll give it back.”

Oh, the alcohol is hitting for sure, he’s giggling now.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He reaches inside his coat and fishes out a cigarette, handing it to her.

“Thanks. Alright now. Pay attention carefully as I am going to make this cigarette disappear.”

“Oh, is that so?” This is so funny.

“Oh, I’m sure of it.”

Her fingers as gentle as gentle could be, twirls the cigarette between her hands. One hand takes it by the end and pushes it into the other hand, fingers cusp and creating a little curtain for it to hide. That hand opens, revealing an empty palm. The other hand opens also revealing itself to be empty.

“Holy shit, how-?”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?!” She laughs. She twirls her hands once more and suddenly, the cigarette reappears. “This was one of the first tricks Pascal ever taught me. At the time, he had no interest in training me to become an actual magician or illusionist, but he still wanted me to respect the craft if I was to become his assistant. Here.” Handing back the cigarette, Arthur barely registered to himself to take it. His eyes remain on hers when the cigarette returns. And then he bursts out laughing.

“You are way too smart and crafty for the likes of me. And how does a clever girl like you end up in a place like this?”

Opal shrugs.

“I’m running low on money and a girl like me doesn’t have a lot of options in a place like this. But like the other jobs I’ve held, I don’t plan on sticking around for long. I was originally hired to be a maid and clean up these rooms, but today’s my first day as a working girl and you happen to be my first customer.”

“Really?” he raises a brow. “Well, don’t mind me saying this, but I find you quite the company. I certainly wouldn’t mind spending another hour with you.” To emphasize his point, he winks, causing her to burst into a fit of giggles.

“Now I feel like I’m the one who should be paying, Arthur.” The way she says his name is doing something to him.

“Oh! In that case, my prices are rather high, but for a pretty thing like you, I might consider a discount.” That got another laugh out of her. He hopes to hear more of it.

Then the laughing dies in the background as loud footfalls are heard from outside the room. They come running and then stop - right next to the door.

“(Y/N)!” It’s a woman, voice ear-splitting and piercing right through the wood. Heavy bangs shake the door and the knob jolts in all directions. “(Y/N)! It’s him! He’s here! He’s here!”

“Oh shit!” The lady in the silk robe gets up in a rush with such force, her chair swings back and falls with a heavy thud on the hard floor. She runs to the door and unlocks it. The door swings open and a woman tumbles in into Opal’s arms. “Christ, Sara!”

The woman, Sara, Arthur assumes, is a mess. By now, he’s out of his chair and making his way towards the two girls. Sara is a young lady, much younger than Opal, or whatever she was just called by her. Her straw blonde hair was half tied back in a ribbon, half loose and in her face, failing to cover the absolute pale fear that possessed her. Her makeup was smeared and she had a newly formed black eye shaping and wet with tears now falling. The skirt and blouse that she wore were dirty and torn and barely hanging. Her shaking hands gripped hard with white knuckles into Opal’s arms. “He’s here! He’s here!”

Opal gripped back, trying to reassure her that it was all going to be alright. And as Arthur was about to reach them and ask what the hell was going on, she pushes Sara in his direction.

“Stay with the gentleman over there, Sara. He’ll keep you safe.” Opal’s eyes are wide as she stares off. There was something beyond the doorway in front of her.

A hand reaches out and takes a hold of Opal, causing Sara to scream and Arthur pulling her behind him.

It was Lynwood Barker. And he was far from happy.

“You bitch!”

Barker was big compared to her, a giant capable of grabbing her and picking her up by the neck with a single hand. He was much like a bull, taking its sharp horns and gouging and yanking away fools who dared to cross its way. Running her into the wall, he slams with such force, she chokes a pained groan and it occurs to Arthur what he needs to be doing.

Telling the Sara to get as far away as possible, he goes for his revolver and cocks it.

“Put her down, friend, or else this will get as messy as it did just this mornin’.”

This gets Barker’s attention.

“You!” His face red with anger as Opal’s face began to turn to shades of purple and blue. All that anger has now deviated to Arthur and he lets go of Opal. She falls, landing hard on the floor and gasping.

“You son of a bitch! You were the one who put that bullet in my ass!”

“Damn straight and I’m 'bout to do it again.”

Someone screams. It was Sara, who by now had flipped over the sad excuse of a bed and barricaded herself behind it.

It was now the two men that the room concerned itself with.

Arthur fires a shot, but it deflected when Barker shoves the barrel, lodging the bullet to the far wall. The gun is knocked from his hand and a fury of hands knocks over the table and chairs, the glasses and bottle shattering along them.

And much like a bull, blind with rage makes Barker a dangerous fighter to be on opposing ends on it. Arthur has been in this situation too many times; sober, drunk, angry, reluctant, or desperate.

Aware of the two women of the room, this explosive situation in this tiny room needs to be diffused as quickly as possible.

Fists up, the two go out at it.

Barker is a brawler. There's nothing holding him back. He throws his fists and heaves his entire body and weight with a recklessness only men who have nothing to lose have.

He's throwing hooks, jabs, and the wildest haymakers Arthur's seen outside of the saloon.

Attempting to dodge, he's soon pushed back, stepping backward near the wall behind. Blows land. To the face, the chest, and the abdomen. The air from his lungs are being punctured out and it's hard to catch a breath and the world around him blurs in colors. Sara starts screaming again. She drags the bed and its frame away from them.

Arthur tries to swing back. He dazes the man with a strike to the nose, following it with an uppercut. Barker groans, nearly falling on his ass. Blood runs from the corners of his mouth and he spits out a mouthful on the floor.

A brief moment of nothing happens.

Barker stares hard into Arthur's eyes. It was the look of a mad man who will not be stopped until there is nothing to be stopped.

And just as Barker is about to start again, a loud crash falls.

It was a chair and it had been thrown over his body, breaking into pieces upon impact.

He collapses. Behind him stands Opal.

"Christ!" It slips out of Arthur before anything else.

The chair didn't stop him. If anything, it only gave more fuel to this disastrous inferno.

He gets up, and all attention goes to the lady in the silk robe.

Arthur's about to run to them, yell out, do something to stop him. But he's still trying to catch a breath, leaning against the wall, reeling in the pain and sink it deep.

Much to his surprise, he doesn't have to do anything.

Opal or whatever her name was, had her own hands up, ready to put up her own fight.

And what a fight she held.

It was like two people dancing. It was like the few times Arthur's seen professionals on stage in some show or even on some city street or how he imagines balls for the rich are like.

She was throwing punches, dodging his clumsy moves with such grace on her feet. She strikes sharp and all in the right places. But unlike her heavy set opponent, she can't strike hard.

Those hard strikes from him hurt to watch when they land. She yells out in pain, gurgling blood from out her nose and mouth. She slips and lands on the floor more than a couple time throughout the bout.

Nonetheless, it was impressive to watch her tire him out. The anger was there, but the energy behind it was slowly draining second by second. Picking herself off the ground after every bone breaking punch, she goes after him again. The speed she held in her limbs was her only weapon against his angry, heavyset approach.

And then it's over!

An uppercut right under the jaw, Barker's head bucking back, and he fall hard like a stubborn tree cut down.

It was memorizing and when it was over, Arthur scolds himself for not intervening.

Standing back up from the wall, he walks over to Opal. She was heaving, bleeding from her face and hands. The onset of bruises starts to form all over her. Her hair's a mess, her makeup running, and her robe torn and stained in blood.

"You okay?" he immediately says. She's in a daze and takes a moment to herself before responding.

"I-" she gasps, hand grasping at her throat. Barker had left a mark there, a near perfect print of his palm and fingers, red and bruising the thin delicate skin. She takes another moment.

"M'fine," she slurs, spitting blood. Groaning out the pain from her wounds, she lays a quivering, scraped hand on his bicep, leading him away to the unconscious man on the floor. "It’s worth it. He’s worth more alive anyway. You?”

Wait, what? "I'm alright-did you just say worth more alive?" he places a hand over hers that laid upon him, careful not to hurt it any further. He was completely unaware of the state of trauma that decorated his complexion. Especially after hearing that from her.

“Yeah, you’ve seen his bounty. He’s worth good money. Hold on a sec.”

They find Sara under the sheets, shaking like a scared child. She's weeping and Opal bends down to her. Removing the sheet, she brushes her hair out of her face, whispering things in her ear that Arthur can't hear. He decides to leave them for the time being.

To make himself useful, he drags aside the bed frame and mattress, now falling apart by the sudden distress of today's events. It groans along with him in metallic anguish. Even one of the side metal bars slip off from the rest of the frame and falls alone from Arthur's hand in defeat. He shrugs, also accepting its defeat.

As he turns back to the two women, he hears a gasp.

It's from Sara. Something caught her wide glossy eyes.

It’s Barker and he's back on his feet again. The burning in his eyes has yet to die.

Before either Opal or Arthur could react, it's Sara who gets up. She grabs one of the loosened metal bar frames from the bed, raised it high, and swings it all the fright that shook her being.

The edge of the bar connects to the edge of Barker's jaw with a hard resounding thud against flesh. Blood splatters the wallpaper. The heavy body of Lynwood Barker falls forward and slack. They all hope it would be the last time.

Opal goes to Sara, coaxing her to drop metal bar as well as herself, possessed by the shock that now overtook her.

Arthur goes to Barker, checking to make sure he was truly unconscious (and hopefully not dead). He's still breathing and is not responding to any pokes, slaps, or name calling.

“Hey,” a hoarse voice calls. It’s Opal. She was still holding Sara in her arms and heading towards the door. “I’m gonna go fix ourselves up and get dressed. When I come back, you wanna take that sack of shit and collect?”

A hiccup caught itself inside Arthur’s chest. She was smiling, her lips split and bleeding, teeth colored red and even small chip could be seen from a distance. She was so contagious and he couldn’t tell if it was from the pain or the rush from the fight or even the alcohol from earlier.

“Sure.”

* * *

 It was getting late by the time they made it to the sheriffs.

Taking the back way to hide away from prying eyes, Arthur and Opal and carry the unconscious body of one wanted Lynwood Barker. He grabs him under the armpits and she has him under the knees. They were careful not to drop him, but not careful enough to let his head or limb run into a wall or doorway or two every so often. At least his groans tell them he’s not fully gone.

Sara accompanies the two. By now she was in much better spirits, smiling and giggling with them whenever they “accidentally” ran Barker into said walls and doorways. By now, the two women had tended to their wounds and cleaned of blood, make-up, and pain. They were now dressed much more modestly and comfortably. And much like Arthur, they were ready to go home as said by Opal who promised to take Sara there when this business was done.

At the sheriff’s office is where the excitement started up again.

“Holy shit!”

One of the men with badges held nothing back upon setting his eyes on the three of them and their unconscious gift. Naturally, this caught the attention of everyone else.

Everyone was up in arms, exclaiming their surprise and delights, now finally having one of the most wanted men in the area to be put behind bars.

“My God, you got him!”

“Is he dead?!”

“Jesus, what kinda fight did y’all get into?!”

Lynwood Barker was thrown into his cell with help from fellow officers, put in cuffs on him just in case his awakening in the morning would be less than peaceful.

Sara finds herself talking to a fellow deputy, a young fellow who was becoming more than concerned when he first saw her. As they spoke, awaiting for their bounty to counted and collected, Arthur stands in front of the sheriff’s desk, having Opal there for company.

Wait, that’s not right.

“Your name’s not Opal, I heard that right?” he asks her. Like Sara, she was in much better spirits and wearing much less distracting clothes. That still didn’t explain why he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

“That’s right,” she says. “We never really properly introduced ourselves. My name’s Crane, (Y/N) Crane, and I’m not a prostitute either. Was just pretending to be one. I’m a bounty hunter just like you.” She puts a bandaged hand out and he accepts it and they shake.

“Arthur Morgan. There aren’t very many lady bounty hunters making a living in this here parts.”

“Yeah, I hear that a lot,” she ducks her head, hand going over to hide her smile among other things. “I’m glad I ran into you tonight. I tend to do things alone, but having you with me certainly sped things along. I’ve been after this man for almost two weeks. After finding him on top of Sara, I became hell-bent on making sure this man was stopped, whether it be my bullet or their noose. Barker knew that Sara worked at the brothel and I made the gamble to stick around and see if he really would show up and get revenge. Though the part of acting as a working girl came as a complete surprise. The headmistress hated me and my loitering and eventually threw me in that robe and told me to get to work if I was going waste space here. Our meeting wasn’t supposed to happen, but I like I said, I’m glad I ran into you. There’s going to be the biggest sigh of relief across the place when the news break. I can’t wait.”

It was that intoxicating mood from earlier when they first met at the room back at the brothel. It was rolling right back in, almost as if this whole ordeal never happened. Perhaps this ordeal made things more interesting?

“Explains a lot, but I’m glad to hear that too,” he rolls his shoulders and grips his belt. “He was a pain in my ass when I went after him this mornin’. This is not what I expected how my day to end.”

“Would you say your day ended just as good as it started with that cup of coffee?”

Oh, that smile. It was the same pair lips on the same person and he’s seen enough for one day and yet it will not get his attention. And that tone in her voice when she particularly asked him that.

“No,” he finally said. “Not at all. It’s been much better than that cup of coffee.”

Their money comes to them and they split it evenly between themselves. It was a hefty reward for such a hefty and troublesome bounty.

The three of them leave the sheriff’s and walk down to the end of the road where the roads split and go off on their own ways.

Miss Crane asks Sara to wait for her by the gas-lit street lamp just a few feet away so she could get a quick word with Arthur.

“I just wanted to thank you again. Not only with bagging this bounty but also with catching such a vile man and saving women like Sara from his sick hands. People like him have no right to even breathe the same air as the rest of us.” Even in the dark, disgust could be read as well as if she were under that lamp with Sara.

“Don’t mention it. Glad I was able to help you out. And if anythin’, I should be the one thankin’ you.”

“F-For what? What I do?” That look of confusion could also be read well and Arthur couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well, not only did you save my sorry hide back there, you also gave me an all-around good night with that talk and drink. Even gave me back my bounty to top it off. So don’t mind me sayin’, thank you. For tonight.”

“Aww, that’s sweet. C’mere, cowboy,” she throws her arms open and brings in him for a tight, warm hug. He doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, even if it felt so foreign and strange to him. His arms go to wrap around her shoulders. They pull back but still remain close.

Then something catches his eyes.

Her bandaged hands. Out of instinct, he grabs them as gently as he could.

“By the way, how’d you learn to fight like that? You were practically dancin’ with him in that room.” She shrugs, their hands now dropping as the conversation turned.

“That because it kinda was. You remember I mentioned I was a ballet dancer? It taught me how to be light on my feet and keep my balance. It became a bigger help when I started taking up boxing in Boston and hitting fighting rings to make extra money. They’re hobbies I still practiced and use to this day.”

“Really? Boxin’ and ballet dancin’?”

“Oh yeah. Those two go hand in hand better than you think. The way I see it, you can’t call yourself a good fighter unless you can also call yourself a good dancer as well.”

“In that case, I must be the worst fighter in town.” That gets a good laugh out of both of them.

“Aw, don’t think I didn’t see you back there. I saw you gave him a good couple licks. I’d say you must be a pretty decent dancer.” That got him laughing again.

“Oh, I dunno ‘bout that,” he’s suddenly glad that lamp post is far enough away from them.

A moment passes and they realize they haven’t said the thing they were have supposed to have said that brought on this whole conversation by the road.

Miss Crane clears her throat.

“I uh...I had a lot of fun with you tonight, Mr. Morgan. I’m not very good at saying good-bye, especially to someone like you. So how about ‘see you later?’”

Arthur nods, mostly to himself. He liked the sound of that.

“Yeah. ‘See you later.’” he repeats. She’s smiling wide and it's contagious. Just as he thinks she’s about to step away, never to be seen by his eyes again, she goes up to him and gently kisses him on the cheek. Her lips are soft and he could feel the scab that healed itself where her lips had split. That didn’t deter the affection she gave him.

They were simply hers and that’s all that matter.

They say nothing and only wave as she walks away and towards Sara underneath the lamp post. He watches them links arms and go off their merry way. As he’s about to turn himself and go back to camp, he sees Sara turn around and wave her arm in the air.

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan!” she yells clear and loud to him and the night sky. “Thank you so very much!”

He chuckles to himself.

This is certainly going to make a very interesting page or two in his journal.

And it's going to start with a sketch of Miss Crane in that silk robe, blood and all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I would love feedback of any kind, every little comment/kudos would mean a lot to me. You can find me on Tumblr as well as "little-box-of-flower-pots"


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